Dragons of Drupes - 8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

I was still out of Chrissy’s view, so I composed myself.

Jack had better be nice.

“Sure they wouldn’t have started without their drummer,” Jack muttered. There was a sharp click of the door.

I stepped into the hall toward them. “Chrissy!”

She threw her arms around my neck; her usual way of greeting. Jack shuffled to the side, watching, his expression unreadable.

“Lads setting up?” she asked, letting go.

I nodded. “Just grabbing my guitar.”

“Guitar is so generic. Give it a name already.”

“Like what?”

Jack turned away, treading up to the kitchen.

But not before I saw his eyes roll.

“My snare’s Yin. Guess you could name your guitar Yang?” She blinked, almost coyly. Was she flirting with me? Or maybe she just thought Ying and Yang sounded cool – since we were in a band together.

I didn’t really want to call my guitar Yang, though. I hadn’t named it anything so far, because nothing had sounded right. I dragged my case from under the bed, chucked it casually across my shoulders and headed to Terry’s garage.

“I’ll think about it.”

It took us another twenty minutes to organize ourselves before we started playing anything resembling music.

Ben picked a few notes on his base. When it came around the second time, Simon started a pre-programmed loop on his laptop and joined in with his keyboard. There was a clean break where Ben and Simon stopped for a few seconds and only the plopping of beats from the laptop could be heard.

Then I began to sing. And thank God not opera, like my dream.

After one line we all hit it together; the sound of drums, bass, and guitar in combination sent me on a high and I jumped around on the makeshift stage, strumming my guitar and singing the lyrics. Every now and then, Chrissy sang in harmony.

Nearing the end of our first round of songs, Terry applauded loudly, cheering until we, without breaking, started into our first set again. He bobbed about a bit, then after a few minutes moved to exit the garage. As he opened the door I caught a glimpse of Jack, perched in the doorway, staring at Terry with a surprised look on his face. Within a second he was gone. When Terry came back he motioned to his watch.

Time to wrap things up.

Terry roared. “You guys are gonna rock next week!”

“That last round we had down!” Simon whooped.

Chrissy hit her tom-tom followed by the cymbals. Da-bom-bom-cha. “Totally fantastic.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. Switching off the amps, I unplugged my guitar. Terry jumped up on stage and helped us.

“Gonna have to upgrade you from fan to roadie,” Ben said with a grin.

“Just promise me, when you’re rich and famous, you’ll let me come on tour.”

I nudged him. My way of saying I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I glanced toward the door again and snagged Terry. “What did Jack want before?”

Terry shrugged. “No idea.”

“We’re gonna head,” Ben said. “See you at final practice.”

I glanced at my watch, it was five to midnight. I only needed to drag it out a few more minutes and I could ask Chrissy out. “How about—”

Chrissy cut me off, pecking my cheek. “Really got to run, or I’ll miss my bus.”

She’d turned and walked out the door before I could protest. Ben and Simon trundled after her.

“Later then,” I said, throwing Terry a look, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Help me drag this,” Terry said. We lifted a heavy wooden stage block and placed it under the window. He checked his watch. “Last thirty seconds of being sixteen,” he said. “Wanna celebrate?”

I smirked, thinking back to the hot oven before. “Sure, sounds . . . great.”

Terry’s feet crunched on the wooden steps as we went upstairs. The whole house was silent. Too silent. My grin grew wider, and I was glad to be where Terry couldn’t see me.

He stopped outside the closed kitchen door, and I quickly wiped the smile from my face, biting my tongue not to give anything away.

“Happy Birthday, man,” he said, swinging the door open and a chorus of ‘surprise’ hit me. As I’d practiced in my head, I jumped and gave my best startled expression.

When my friends started singing ‘Happy Birthday’—not all that in tune— Terry leaned over and said, “You knew, didn’t you?”

I flashed him a wide grin and slunk an arm over his shoulder. “Just a bit.”

The hot oven that had given it away. What else would we use it for, except to bake a cake?

Even Terry’s leaning on the doorbell after the bar made sense. He’d given Jack and Faye enough time to get rid of the evidence. I scouted the room for the cake; I hoped they’d chosen raspberry coconut. Well, anything, as long as it wasn’t chocolate.

Music thrummed on and a chorus of ‘yeah’s came from my right. Simon was high-fiving one of Terry’s mates—Chan? Chen? Something like that. Quiet guy, usually held back. Terry must have been thinking the same because he bent his head closer and said, “Dude, that Simon guy must have magic, I swear he could liven anyone—anything up.”

“Just wait till he has a few and starts stripping. When you can’t get him down from the table you’ll wish he wasn’t quite so magical.”

Terry laughed as Faye signaled something to him from across the room.

I scanned the faces and was relieved when I saw Chrissy standing next to Ben, and not one of my so-hot-it’s-unfair-Jock friends they’d invited. Like Don, who I’m pretty sure could get anyone in this room with a casual wink. I searched the crowd for his face and found it smashed against a red-haired girl I didn’t recognize. Whew, he was suitably engaged.

Terry pressed a bottle of beer to my hand. “We’ve stocked up on this and wine. And I think people brought a few bottles of harder stuff. Gin. Vodka. Whiskey.”

Faye pushed her way through the crowd, almost crashing into Joe—a tall, elegant guy with silver hair—but Joe gracefully swept out of her way. Too graceful if you ask me, I was sure he had part elf in him. A mystery for another day.

Faye tugged my ears bringing me down to her level before kissing my cheeks. “Happy Birthday, Drake.”

“Guys,” I had to clear my throat from its sudden tightness, “thanks for this.”

“Don’t thank us. It was Jack’s idea—he’s the one who planned it.” Faye’s gaze zoomed in on the boxes of wine sitting on the kitchen bench behind us. “Just a sec . . . ” she said and headed toward them, leaving me with my mouth gaping open. Jack? He was the one to organize this? I looked around the decorated kitchen he and Faye must have set up during band practice. Everyone I could’ve wanted was there. How had he gotten their numbers? I only had them in my address book in my desk drawer—Wait. He’d opened my locked door before . . .

I found Jack leaning on the oven, sipping on a glass of beer staring unfocused into the crowded room undulating to Simon’s remix.

“Having fun?” I asked and when he cupped a hand over his ear, I came closer, speaking louder. “Having fun?”

“As much as it looks like you are.”

I chuckled. “It’s real nice of you guys to bother with the party thing.”

“Was your best-buddy Terry’s idea,” Jack said hurriedly, cheeks flushing before he hid them behind a large gulp of beer.

“Terry’s. Huh. Interesting.”

Why the lie?

“Do you . . . do you like it?” He swallowed the rest of his beer.

“Yeah, it’s great.”

Jack visibly relaxed, then smiled. “Great.” He reached out a hand and clamped it on my shoulder before quickly yanking it away again. “Happy Birthday.”

I could still feel the pressure of his hand on my shoulder like he’d left something there and that whatever-it-was was creeping across my chest, touching every nerve.

Finally I found my voice again, “Uh, yeah, thanks.”

Jack dropped his bottle in the trash and grabbed another. I knew for a fact the guy wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight he seemed to be going for it. I raised my bottle to his once he’d snapped of the top. He hesitated a second, meeting my gaze and then clinked.

“Cheers,” I said.

Someone knocked into me from behind and I bumped into Jack, spilling a slosh of beer down his top. One hand of mine was splayed on his—wow, hard!—chest to keep my balance.

We glanced at each other at the same time, that creeping tingling feeling shooting through me once again. Did he feel that too? I ripped myself away.

I’d never been so relieved to have Faye interrupt. “Guys,” she said, Terry in-tow, “just one more thing before we party the night away.” Jack and I shuffled apart as casually as we could. “We can visit Beatrice Wymer at Drupes University. Her office hours are between eleven and one.”

“Where our favorite professor Thomas Quincey works?” I said.

“Yeah. And,” Faye continued, “I’ve started to re-create the dialogue between Avice and Walter. You’ll want to check that in the morning, Drake. I get the feeling we might want to keep an eye on that Walter.”

I frowned, about to ask what she’d got, but she read my face and shook her head. “No, no. That’s all the update for tonight. Now go enjoy your party. Chrissy’s alone there, maybe you want to . . . ” She waggled her eyebrows.

A new song came on, louder than the last, swallowing up all the voices, thumping of dancing feet and clinking bottles.

By the table against the wall, through a part in the curtain of swaying bodies, Chrissy sat playing cards with Ben. Looking up at exactly that moment, she caught my stare, then winked and went back to her game.

Jack downed the rest of his bottle. “I’m going to need another one,” he mumbled, pushing past me to the alcohol-lined bench adjacent from us. I shouldn’t have heard him with the music so loud, but I found myself straining my ears to hear his every word.

“Go for it,” Terry whispered and slapped my ass, pushing me in Chrissy’s direction.

As I moved over to her, I got swarmed with pats on the back and ‘happy seventeenth’ wishes. Already the air stunk of sweat and booze-fogged air. The only way to handle the smell was to join in. I drained the rest of my beer, dumping the bottle on a shelf before I moved to Chrissy.

The closer I got, the more I trembled. I cupped my hand over my mouth and sniffed my breath. Crap. Why had I drunk the beer? Join in with stale-beer breath, seriously? Couldn’t I have waited until after Chrissy!

I berated myself the rest of the way, internally shrugging it off just before I reached her. Couldn’t do anything about it now—and brushing my teeth would seem a little try-hard.

“Be cool,” I murmured to myself.

Sliding on the bench next to Chrissy, I readied myself to chat, when a loud voice silenced the room.

I’d recognize the voice anywhere, of course.

Mr Buzkill was back in action. Seriously, the dude had timing. Couldn’t he see I was about to make my move?

Scowling, I looked up to see Jack standing on a chair, waving his arms to catch everyone’s attention. Simon turned the music right down.

“And now,” Jack said, raising a full bottle of beer, “for the game part of the night.” Jack wobbled slightly as he fumbled in his back pocket. I threw Terry a look to pull him off the chair, and Terry stepped closer to him.

Christ. How drunk was Jack?

He pulled out a folded square piece of paper. “Simon, you’re up first,” he hollered before motioning something to Faye.

Faye opened the bottom drawer of the oven and pulled out two orange signs, while Terry dragged to chairs into the kitchen part of the room.

“Drake, Simon, please step on up.”

Dammit Jack. He had to do this now? Once I’d finally gathered my guts to talk to Chrissy?

I didn’t want to leave Chrissy’s side, but she was already pushing me toward the front. Simon and I sat back to back on two chairs. Faye handed us the signs. They had my name printed on one side and Simon’s on the other.

“Just raise your sign to answer,” he motioned the crowd to gather on one side of us. Then, taking a large swig of beer, Jack jumped to the ground, teetering a moment before catching his balance.

“First question to get warmed up,” Terry spoke now, sharing a cheeky smirk with the crowd.

“I hope there’s a prize in this,” I muttered. I hated games where I was in the center of attention. Whose idea had been the game? I scowled from Faye to Terry to Jack. It could’ve been Jack—he did like to piss me off—but my bet was on Faye; she was the type to believe because it’s my birthday I should be hounded with attention.

I wished it was Jack though—it was easier to be annoyed.

“Who has been the drunkest?” Terry called out the question.

I focused on the game. Drunkest? Hmmm. I’d seen Simon get wasted before, but even the worst of his antics were no comparison to mine. I was sure he hadn’t woken, hung over, with a peacock in his bedroom scaring the bejesus out of him, and bird crap all over the carpet. I winced at the memory and raised my sign. There was a loud cheer, so I guessed Simon had also flashed my name to the audience.

“Nothing beats the peacock, brother,” Simon whispered back to me. I cringed. Yeah.

“Second question,” Faye said. “Who of you kissed a girl first?”

“What?” I quipped, “Oh you guys are cruel. These questions are only going to get worse aren’t they?”

The crowd cheered and Don wolf-whistled. “Make him blush,” someone else yelled.

I shook my head. “You’re all going to regret this, count on that.” But I smiled and raised Simon’s name to the audience, it was a wild guess. There was a chorus of laughter, so I guess he’d shown mine.

We continued playing, until I had been questioned about nearly everyone in the room. Only Terry, Chrissy and Jack were left. My heart pumped faster when Chrissy sat behind me.

I could feel her hair brush the back of my neck, and then she rested her head against mine. My gut bubbled and I had to wipe my suddenly sweaty hands over the thighs of my jeans.

“I’m feeling squiffy,” she said. And so was I—but more a little drunk on nerves than the one beer I’d had. “This should be a right blast.”

“Blast, yeah,” I said with a dry mouth.

Her head was still against mine, and it was starting to dig a bit much on the one spot. Terry none to casually winked at me as he asked his first question. “Who of you is hot for someone right now?”

“Seriously?” I muttered, feeling my cheeks redden. Then my gaze cut to Jack to my right in the kitchen filling up a shot glass, his back turned to us.

My head felt really uncomfortable. I pulled away from Chrissy, shaking so she’d move. She didn’t, just kept her head lolling back against my neck, giggling lightly.

God, I had to get out of this game. I whipped my sign up.

The crowd’s murmurings died to leave a short silence. I wanted to twist and look at her sign. “We’ll talk about this later, luv,” she said as if knowing how much I needed to know. And with that I was back to feeling a warm buzz inside again, my neck warm where her head lay.

Terry asked three more questions, thankfully not getting too dirty—only embarrassing. I’d probably have to share the worst embarrassing moment of my life to at least five of the crowd after this. Only Terry knew the story so far and he mouthed ‘peanut butter bandage’ at me and laughed.

Finally, Faye snatched the sheet off Terry and asked the last question. “Who has the most people thinking about him or her right now?”

Ha ha. That was a non-question. I sulkily raised my sign and was met with a chorus of Happy Birthdays again, followed by everyone taking a drink. I sent Terry my puppy-dog pleading eyes: Could we stop now, please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top of the icing on top of three scoops of your favorite ice-cream pleeease?

His reply was to holler: “Next up: Jack!”

Bastard.

Jack shook his head. “No way, that wasn’t the deal,” I heard him snap to Terry.

“You can’t be the only one not to,” Faye said.

Jack muttered something inaudible and chugged the rest of his beer down, chasing it with a shot being passed around.

The scent of his Lynx wafted over to me when he sat down, and a new Jack/Drake sign was pressed into my hands. His fingers rapped at the sides of his chair and I could feel the vibrations of him shaking his foot through my seat.

“If you really don’t want to do it, don’t,” I said to him. “You won’t find me complaining.”

“This was a stupid idea,” came Jack’s rather slurred reply, “I hate this game.”

“Makes the both of us.”

He laughed, but it sounded tinny.

“Who is more determin—?” Faye asked, snorting when my sign shot up even before she’d finished her question.

Jack must have answered in an equally fast manner because then Simon let loose a raucous laugh and the crowd joined in.

“Who is bolder?”

Now it seemed a game of who could get their sign up the fastest. Neither of us needed a moment to think about the questions. The crowd laughed harder.

Before Faye rang out the next question, I muttered to Jack under my breath, “You’re not playing like someone who hates the game.”

“Didn’t realize”—he stumbled over ‘realize’ to make it sound like ‘real-ease’—“the questions would be so easy.”

I shook my head as the next question came, “Who has the ability to annoy more people?”

Once our signs raced up, the crowd doubled in stitches—or at least it felt like it. Ben and Chrissy were shaking their heads, Simon kept barreling laughs and Don whistled like he’d just learned how and couldn’t stop.

Jack growled, shaking his head, and I could almost feel it rumble through the chair.

Almost in tears with laughter, Faye asked, “Who is cleverer?”

That was it. The crowd was in hysterics. Guess we were both a little up ourselves. Simon yelled across the room, “Don’t think so Drake—remember the peacock? It was stupid man. You’re hornyphobic.”

“Orniphobic, dammit.”

But my correction was lost in a sea of shrieks.

“Not as stupid as the peanut butter incident,” Terry joined in.

“Shuddup!” I said, then to Jack said, “Least I didn’t mix up ‘deprecating’ with ‘defecating’ when insulting a police officer!”

“Hush-hush guys,” Faye said, “And last but not least, who do you think is more interesting?”

Finally there were cheers and claps. He’d picked himself on that one, too? I shook my head.

Jack, Jack, Jack.

Once I’d finished with Terry, the only one where we answered all questions the same, I grabbed another beer and danced with my friends to the bass-heavy jam Simon had put on. After getting myself sufficiently tipsy, but not drunk, I cracked my knuckles, ready to talk with Chrissy again. I saw her chatting with Don. Definitely time to get over there. I willed Don away, searching for that red-haired chic he’d been with in the crowd to latch onto and drag over there. I saw her chatting with Simon on the couch.

I waltzed through the crowd, narrowly avoiding elbows and other dancing limbs slamming into my face and chest. The song changed and I was tempted to writhe to the catchy beat, but a glance at Chrissy and Don had me moving faster. I was just about to snag Red and Simon’s arm to come along, when Jack caught my eye.

He was taking a shot, quickly followed by another one—I checked to see who he was hanging with, but it was obvious he was enjoying the green shots alone. Suddenly I was annoyed no one was talking to him, keeping him company, stopping him from drinking himself into a coma.

I looked at Don and Chrissy, and back to Jack. “Dammit.” I couldn’t leave him like that. Pushing my way past friends and people I’d never before seen in my life, I reached Jack alone in the corner of the kitchen.

“Shit, Jack! What are you doing?”

“Just a little t-trink.”

I snapped up a third shot away from him. “Get some water.” I rinsed a glass in the sink.

“Don’t be such a square,” he said, mimicking my accent, “I’m not ignorant of the dangers to drinking.” He chuckled, but it turned into a hiccup.

I handed him the water, blocking his path until he finished.

“No, thanks,” he said. He tried to side step me, and lost his footing. I caught him by the arm and pushed him back into a standing position. Then, I forced the water into his mouth, making him drink. Once he’d finished, he belched.

“Ugh,” he groaned, then flashed a panicked look at me. “Feel sick.”

I laid the cup on the bench, wrapped an arm around him, and dragged him through a crush of bodies out of the room.

“Let go!” he said once we were at the staircase. He tried to push away, but he was drunk and weak, and I had no trouble getting him to his room.

I pushed open his door, cursing and blinking at the shafts of sunlight streaming into his room. Jack shielded his eyes and mumbled something about the curtains.

Unceremoniously, I dumped him on his bed and yanked closed his blinds against the midday New Zealand sun, but even with them shut an orangey glow filled the room.

“You need to sober up,” I said.

He tried to get up, and I moved to his side, pinning him back down by his shoulder. “It’s my birthday, and I forbid you from any more partying.”

His eyes glistened and he blinked. “Kicking me out of your party, huh?”

“Don’t move,” I said, and moved to take off his shoes.

“I get it,” he slurred, “I’m sorry you hate me around. Always fuck it up, I do.” He closed his eyes.

The laces came free on his first shoe and I slipped it off.

“I don’t want you there drunk,” I murmured back to him, gently pulling off his second shoe and coming to his side, “not that I don’t want you there at all.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jack said quietly, “Thanks.” He turned his head away from me, but I saw a small tear run out his eye, trailing toward his ear. “I get you don’t like me, Drake.” Such a little drop. I shouldn’t have cared—it was a beer-tear—but seeing it had my insides squirming.

The tear pearled on the edge of his ear, ready to drop inside. Was this tear really him thinking I didn’t like him?

I lifted my hand and reached out to wipe the droplet away, as if I could wipe the thought from him too, but pulled back, swallowing instead. Taking the tear wouldn’t change anything.

If anything, he’d think it was weird, and in his drunken state might laugh at me. I didn’t want to be laughed at, didn’t want this feeling to be turned into a joke because for some reason it was strong and real—it meant something.

I stood up from the bed, trying not to focus on the fact I was shaking.

Jack sighed, and it was the most vulnerable sound I’d ever heard. At that moment, I ached to make him better, give him back the confidence he normally exuded. “If I didn’t think you were alright, why’d I say you were the more interesting one of us, upstairs, huh?”

I searched his room for a waste-paper basket for him to chuck in if he needed later, but maybe I was distracting myself from looking at his sad face.

“You did?” Jack said, twisting on the bed, then groaning. “Jeez, everything’s spinning.”

“Yeeah, by the way, did no one tell you not to mix?”

“Don’t be a smartass right now.” He groaned again.

I found a bin and put it next to his bed. Jack was sitting up, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a hard, lightly haired chest.

“I put up your name,” he said, the sound muffled by his shirt.

Now I understood the clapping and cheers we’d gotten for our last question upstairs.

It had been the first nice thing we’d answered about each other.

Jack finally freed himself of his shirt and his eyes, half-mast, held my gaze a moment. Then he clutched his flat stomach and groaned.

“Lie back down,” I said. “The bin’s on this side if you need to throw up.” I moved to his closet and scrimmaged through his clothes until I found a tee-shirt for him.

He clutched it in his hands, not moving as he said, hesitantly, “You know, I don’t really hate you.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. That’s good. Because I think the way I’m feeling right now I’d hate it if you hated me.

So wasn’t going to say that. I ran a hand through my hair. “Do you have a drink bottle or something? You are going to want to drink a lot of water tonight.”

Jack sighed. “Over there on the bottom book shelf.”

When I came back with a refilled bottle, he had pushed the blanket aside and was yanking at his jeans, already half-way down his legs. He jiggled his feet in frustration and then just fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

I put the bottle on his side table and helped him out of his jeans, then without looking quickly threw a blanket over him.

“Make sure you drink,” I said quietly. I walked backwards, stumbling over Jack’s shoes I’d left in the middle of the floor, as I made for the door.

“Uh, thanks for making sure I didn’t get too wasted,” he said.

My voice came husky and thick from the back of my throat, “See you tomorrow then.”

On the empty staircase between Jack’s floor and the throbbing party above, I sat on the staircase, resting my head against my knees. I could feel my hands still shake as I wrapped them around my legs. I tried to focus on the pain of my safety pins digging into my forehead to get me to sober-up and stop . . . stop these feelings.

Maybe I was drunker than I thought? I was feeling light-headed. Yeah, I was just getting all over-sensitive to something I normally wouldn’t.

The best thing would be to forget about it. Have another drink, enjoy my party—have some laughs, flirt. I’d forget all about this by morning.

Plucking myself up, I made my way toward the pulsing attic.

No one seemed to have missed me, so I grabbed another bottle of beer and slipped back into the scene unnoticed.

Faye swayed in the crowd nearby, skirt fanning as she twirled. More than a couple of guys were checking her out. I tapped her on the shoulder and she twisted round, skirt rising so high I wasn’t sure her guy-fans didn’t catch a glimpse at what was underneath.

“Drake! Are you having fun?”

I forced on a smile. “You?”

“So much!” She was tipsy, but not too bad. Nothing like Jack’d been. “The game was funny, huh?”

That reminded me of something. “When you asked who was hot for someone in the Chrissy round, what was her answer?”

Her smile faltered. “Can’t remember.”

Chrissy said she wanted to talk about it, but I wanted to be prepared. “Faye. Tell me.”

“Okay . . . She kind of said you as well. Sorry.”

But did that really mean anything? Maybe she was just embarrassed.

Faye gave me a wink and danced her way to Terry beckoning her. When she got to him, he clamped a hand on her skirt and whispered into her ear, a frown cutting his brows.

A hand slid around my waist and I was surprised and gut-twirling nervous to find Chrissy next to me.

“Can I talk to you a tick?” Chrissy asked.

Numbly, I let her drag me through the crowd to an abandoned bench. She picked up a pack of cards from the table, shuffled and doled me out a complete hand face down. “Poker,” she said. I peeked at my cards and watched her do the same.

I was terrible at this game.

“What are we playing for?” I asked.

“Truth. Winner gets to ask any one question.”

Great, what would I have to spill out in front of the girl I wanted to impress?

Of course I lost.

“You really ain’t much of a player,” she chided. “Looks like I might need to teach you a few things.” She drummed her fingers over the pack of cards and I couldn’t take waiting any longer.

“What do you want to know?”

Her lips turned up into a wicked grin. I certainly wasn’t prepared for what she asked. Or how she asked it. Her lips met my ear, touching it lightly, and in a sexy-voice she said, “When are you going to ask me out, already?”

And I felt . . . nothing. There was nothing there. Opening my mouth, I went to say something, anything—looking at her, trying to find what it was that I was waiting for, dreaming of for months . . . But there was nothing.

I should be excited now. Ecstatic even. I’d been waiting for this moment for as long as I could remember. Why the hell wasn’t I feeling it?

I really needed a cigarette.

Chrissy smiled, but looked a little less sure of herself. “So, um, you want to go out this Saturday?”

I made my voice sound as enthusiastic as possible. “Sure! How about seven at Howl?”

Inside, though, I was disappointed. This wasn’t the crazy exhilaration I thought I’d feel when I asked her out. It wasn’t the “It’s worth it!” jubilation after all the nerves I’d had. It was nothing like the time I first went on the London Eye.

It felt so . . . anti-climactic. It was sad.

I really, really didn’t want to feel like this. I wanted it to be climactic. Thrilling. I moved closer to her, trying to feel a tingle of something, going over all the things I liked about her, as if reminding myself would trigger the right response. So what if it was delayed? Better late than never, right?

I thought I grasped the feeling when she laughed at Ben robot-dancing in the crowd, throwing her hair back, exposing her throat. Maybe it would have grown stronger too, but Chrissy looked at her watch and jumped. “God. I really have to catch the bus, Drake. Great party, though. Happy seventeenth.”

She sidled off the bench and pecked me on the cheek. I watched her do the same with Ben and Simon before she disappeared downstairs.

My stomach churned unpleasantly, and I left the hardly touched bottle of beer on the table. I pushed past a couple of guys, friends of Terry’s he invited, until I got to Faye.

Gee, she was cheerful when she was tipsy.

“Do me a birthday favor?” I asked her.

“Anything, Drake!” She took my hands and spun herself around.

“Can I see the transcript of the dialogue between the Ballard-Cardon’s?”

“What? Seriously? No!” Faye said. “I said you should check it out tomorrow. It’s your party!”

“It’s my party and I’ll read if I want to,” I said. “Just a quick look. I can’t relax without seeing it.” Please, just let me get my mind off other . . . stuff.

“Fine, it’s on my desk. But don’t be long, Drake! And don’t touch anything else.”

Within five minutes I was sitting in the peace of my library, my knees tucked up under my chin, resting an elbow on the arm of the sofa with the transcript in my hand. Even from here I could hear the faint thudding of music from upstairs, reminding me of the fun I was supposed to be having.

I shook my head. I just wasn’t feeling it.

I read each line of dialogue three times. I saw what Faye meant about keeping an eye on Walter, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling she was missing something. That I was missing something. Maybe another read-through would help.

 

Avice: How much longer?

Walter: Not long. You’ll see. Don’t worry.

Avice: (nod) Don’t you think mum should know? So she’d understand? If she found out any other way . . .

Walter: If she finds out, don’t explain it, she wouldn’t understand. But if you have to tell her, tell her after.

(Moment jewel disappears) Avice: After! She’ll be enraged!

Walter: It’s almost all done!

 

Though I tried to keep focused, my eyes kept skimming off the page. Each time I dragged them back to study the script, they felt heavier. Words jumbled in front of my mind. ‘Don’t worry’ repeated itself until I was humming the lyrics don’t worry be happy.

I rested my head against the arm of the chair and laughed, singing louder and louder until I couldn’t feel my throat anymore and the words morphed into hysteria, and I could no longer be sure whether I was laughing or crying. Tears blurred my book-lined library and molded ceiling, the colors bleeding together until I was watching thick velvet curtains rise up in front of me.

I blinked and a sea of dragons sat in an amphitheatre before me, battering their wings with giant slapping claps.

“Hmm-hmm,” someone said behind me, and I twisted, taking in the tens of dragons chained to the stage, blue flame leaping from their tails to light the floor. A woman wearing a large coat, leaning on a concert piano, smirked at me. “It’s your line, deary.”

“My line?” My voice reverberated around the warm stage.

She put a finger to her lips, nodding, then motioned for me to turn around and start.

“I don’t have any lines.”

“But of course you do. You’re the detective—there’s no show without you.” She turned to leave, coat tails flapping behind her to a wind I couldn’t feel.

“But what am I meant to say?”

“Solve, dear.” Placing a hand on her chest, she sighed. “Just solve it.”

“Solve what?”

She paused a moment before disappearing into a cloud of dragon smoke, “Why, the most important thing of all.”

“It this about the Red Eye?” I yelled after her, my voice coming back to me, weaker and weaker and without any answer.

I twisted back toward the audience, peering into the darkened aisles as if maybe the answer was there—somewhere.

“I’m not meant to be here,” I said to them by way of explanation. “There’s been some mistake.”

I searched for a way off the stage, but there were no exits and between the stage and the audience was nothing but a bottomless, black pit.

“I don’t get it!” I yelled out to the audience, to the stage, to anything that would listen. “You want drama; I’ll give you drama”—I shoved the piano with all my might into the back wall—“get me the hell out of here.”

“I might be able to help you out,” a deep voice I recognized said. I spun around but didn’t see anything but my murky reflection in the waxed stage. “Up here. What are you, blind as a Pipistrellus pipistrellus?”

A large dragon floated above me, its wings extended, and hundreds of tea candles perched atop of them. “Who are you?” I asked.

“Who do you think I am? I’m the chandelier, you idiot.”

“You can help me off the stage? I think this might be a dream—if you could just wake me somehow?”

“Dream? What kind of fucked up world do you live in if you dream me as a chandelier? And don’t even know it?”

Pearls of sweat formed at my hair line and swatted it away. “You sound familiar. Do I know you?”

“Well it’s your dream. Do you know me?”

“I thought you said you’d help.”

He sighed and the tea candle flames flickered. “Fine. Solve the case.”

“Solve the case? There is no case.”

“Isn’t there? Why are you here then?”

The chandelier was obviously nuts. I backed to the side of the stage until I bumped into something; hands with black nail-polish slithered around my waist and Chrissy squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe. Fighting her grip, I spun around, and she gave me a slippery smile as she pushed me toward the centre stage.

When she spoke, it was with the same male voice as the chandelier. “In the centre. It’s where the case is, it’s where it should be solved. Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

She twirled around me, his voice chanting, Ba-bom—ba-bom—ba-om—ba-bom. “Get it now?”

I scratched the back of my head as if it would help; it didn’t. “If you could just tell me what the case is? Then I might have a better chance and solving it for you.” Then it clicked. “Wait! I know what it is—I have to figure out your voice. The voice!”

Chrissy stopped and met the chandelier’s gaze. “You were right calling him an idiot.”

“Aren’t I always right?”

“So the voice has nothing to do with it?” I said, pinching myself up the inside of my arm, hoping that would wake me up.

“No,” they both said in unison.

“Well, I think it’d be best for all of us if we stopped with the cryptic and spoke like rational people.”

“Rational?” The chandelier laughed, the sound echoing around him, growing so loud I thought if I reached out, I might be able to touch it.

Chrissy waved at something across the stage. “Jack, you made it,” she said, flinging herself across with four long leaps into his arms. “Come,” she said, “maybe you could help convince the idiot there’s nothing rational about the case.”

“What case?” I hurled at them.

Jack looked at me, taking me in with a sneer and shook his head, then swept his gaze back to Chrissy. “Let him figure it out on his own.” His voice came out the same as Chrissy and the chandelier’s; deep and familiar.

I willed Jack to look at me again, recognize me; say my name and help me. Instead, he yanked Chrissy into him again, kissing her, lips running down her neck, pushing her up against the piano at the back wall until its keys clunked.

I had to twist away. I blocked my ears from their groans and stared at the rapt audience, blinking back tears.

“Tears?” the chandelier said, smoke coming from his mouth, spiraling toward me in shape of a hand. “Now we’re talking.”

“What the hell?” I said, tripping up on my words with a sniff.

“Tears are honest. Good little things they are.”

“You’re nuts, you don’t even make sense.”

“Like all good things.” His voice was soft, slow as if he were thinking about each word he said before he said it. The smoky hand pushed against the small of my back, urging me to the edge of the stage, the precipice to the bottomless pit.

A drawn-out moan filled the air around me and I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I watched them fall, glistening in the light of the chandelier before they hit the darkest part of the pit, where no light could touch.

“Those are going to a good place,” the chandelier said, “they just couldn’t wait to fall.”

Swallowing, shoulders shaking on the edge of a sob, I couldn’t care to make any sense of his babble. I just wanted to wake up.

“You want help to get out of this?”

“It’s what I’ve wanted all along.”

The smoky hand caressed the nape of my neck. “I know, I know.”

Then he shoved me forward over the edge into the pit—the abyss, his words chasing me and my tears. “Sometimes you should just let yourself fall.”

I jerked awake, a twang of pain rippling through my neck and shoulder.

My eyes quickly accustomed to my surroundings, taking in the sofa I lay on and the sun streaming down on me from the window.

Relief washed over me. There was no more stage. No chandelier. I laughed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands and noticed they were wet.

I rose, craning my neck from side to side, and stretched out a cramp. My head pulsed with sheer white pain at every heartbeat, and nausea swept my stomach.

I was in desperate need of a hangover smoothie.

In the kitchen, I pulled out some ice from the freezer and popped it into a blender. The only fruit we had was a couple of apples, so I chopped them up and added them. I got the plastic lemon from the fridge and squeezed some of its concentrate into the mix. Then I chose a couple of herbal teas from the cupboard, chamomile and very berry, and dunked them in hot water until I’d strained the juice.

Once everything was in the blender, I turned it on. I pressed hard on my earlobes not to hear the roar of the machine as it munched the ice. With four glasses of the stuff, I did my traditional delivery service starting with Terry.

“You . . . a life saver,” he said, sleepily when I entered his room. “Stick it next to my bed? Should . . . be a coaster on my desk.”

I moved the underground map of New York coaster and put down the pink drink.

“You have fun last night?” Terry forced himself to his elbows. Yawned. “Saw you disappeared about the same time as Chrissy.” He managed a doubled eyebrow-wag.

I hit him. “Nothing like that. I had the case on my mind, that’s all.”

Not entirely a lie. But not the truth either.

“I read through the Ballard-Cardon’s transcript.”

Terry sat himself up properly and gulped down the smoothie. “Not the make-out story I was expecting. And…?” He waited with a mouth full of crushed ice.

I showed him the transcript. Terry swatted the sleep from his eyes, quickly sobering up.

“We should give this to Detective Wurz immediately!” he said once he’d read it. “That’s the case solved.”

“Terry,” I started calmly, “There’s no proof here. An extra layer of suspicion, yes, but no proof. Besides, we still don’t know where the jewel is. Part of the deal was to find it.”

Terry’s jaw line hardened. He was the most patient and understanding person I knew, but the threat on our home got him steaming. Veins bulged in his wrists as he balled his hands into fists. “I’ll make sure we get the jewel. Hardly think we need to be scared of some ancient dude and his granddaughter.”

“Let’s just hold ourselves back a couple of days,” I said. “To check some of the facts, scout his house. See what we can find.”

His jaw twitched a bit. “You’re right. But the second I see the slightest bit of evidence . . . ”

I nodded.

“I should get up,” he said. “Do some work while the others are shaking off their hangovers.” He stretched, wiggling his fingers toward the ceiling. “Think I’ll work on some walkie-talkies. I’ve almost finished attaching a linked recording device in them. I mean, these babies are so much more than just for talking in. I want to link it to a, well, it’s sort of like a cloud system, so we can store data and not lose it so easily. . . .”

I stared at him blankly and he sighed. “At the very least, if you and Jack fight again and split, we’re in contact.”

I lightly punched him on the arm. But Jack and me fighting again? The likelihood was 120%. “Better get on with the rounds then.”

Next up: Faye. I knocked on her door—something I never had to do with Terry—and a low girly-grunt was my signal to come in. Messy blonde hair stuck out the top of her blankets. She poked a finger toward her side table and grunted once more as a thank you once I left it there. I tiptoed back out and let her sleep.

I ambled upstairs, not particularly wanting to go into Jack’s room. But the smoothie thing was a tradition, and he’d never been so drunk before; he was bound to need it today more than ever.

Besides, yesterday was some weird anomaly, right? A deviation due to my nerves about Chrissy.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

I picked my glass off the tray and took a couple of large swigs. The ice sent a pang to my head. Nothing like brain freeze to clear the mind.

I gripped Jack’s door handle. I’d just see how things went.